


Confessions of a Delirious Hunter

by DarylsBabyGirl



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic!, Confessions, Delirious Daryl, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Paul's an angel, Rick Ships It, Sick Daryl, Tumblr Prompt, not literally just to Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 14:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12014787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylsBabyGirl/pseuds/DarylsBabyGirl
Summary: Tumblr Prompt! Anony wanted a Christmas fic, so here it is! I hope it isn't too bad, I have been a bit sick, but I was able to focus today, so I hope it's good!





	Confessions of a Delirious Hunter

Their run had been the last for the winter. Rick didn't want anyone getting caught in blizzards without heat or gas, so he said this would be the last one. Daryl and Paul had been the ones to go on the run, and their luck hadn't been the best lately, so of course it started to rain, sleet and then snow the entire time they were traveling and scavenging through houses and buildings. Daryl had gotten the worst of it. Paul's trench coat and beanie were quite water resistant, but Daryl's jeans and jacket were both old and worn, so they'd soaked through almost right away.

They pulled in through the gates and Rick met them at Olivia's house with a couple others who helped them unload the back of the truck. He was impressed with their haul and smacked Daryl on the shoulder. Paul made sure to sneak away with some clothes and a jacket he found, intending to give them to Daryl later. The redneck was too damn selfless for his own good. Rick nudged the hunter to the door, telling him to go take a warm shower before he got sick. The man glared, but did as his brother said and walked down the sidewalk to his own house. 

Paul waits for the hunter to get into the shower and sneaks in, setting the clothes on the unmade bed. He looks around the room and chuckles at the mess of it. The rest of Daryl's house was neat and clean, but his bedroom had clothes all over the floor and weapons on every surface. He can't help sneaking a peek into the bathroom. He can see Daryl's shadow through the curtain, but the steam from the hot water makes it difficult to see any details. He pouts and steps out, sneaking back down the stairs and leaving the house without a trace.

Daryl gets out of the shower, feeling lightheaded and dries off as he walks back into his room. He flops down on his bed, bare naked, grunting when his head hits something hard. He lifts his head and glares down at the nice leather jacket with metal buttons and zippers. There was a slip of paper on the pile of clothes that simply said 'Merry Christmas' in a festive scrawl. He grunts and shoves the clothes and paper off the bed. He crawled under the blankets and closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

The next morning Paul hopped up the steps to Daryl's house and reached his hand up to knock. He bobbed back and forth on the heels of his feet nervously. He hoped the man wasn't mad at him for leaving such a gift. He knows of Daryl's past and prayed the man hadn't taken the clothes as charity. When Daryl didn't answer the door, he reached up and knocked again, slightly louder. Daryl hadn't shown up for breakfast, which was unusual. It had become tradition between them after Paul had moved to Alexandria.

Paul frowned and reached for the door knob and twisted it open. He poked his head in, ears listening for any sounds. “Daryl?” When the hunter gave no response, he stepped in and shut the door behind him. 

The scout checked the kitchen and den before making his way upstairs. The hunter couldn't still be asleep. For as long as Jesus had known him, Daryl was always up before any of them. He stepped up to Daryl's bedroom door and peeked in through the crack. The redneck was still sound asleep in bed and Paul raised an eyebrow. He walked up to the bed and stared down at the hunter's flushed, sleeping face. He chuckled and reached down to carefully brush bangs from Daryl's eyes. He felt the heat coming off Daryl's skin and frowned. 

“Daryl..?” He laid his hand across the hunter's forehead and his eyes widened. “You've got a fever!”

The hunter grunted and squinted his eyes open. They were hazy from sleep and fever when they landed on Paul's face. “... S'an angel... Mama always said an angel would watch o'er me..”

Paul shook his head. “You're delirious. Stay here, I'll be right back.” He turned to walk away, but Daryl's fingers latched onto his wrist and yanked him down on the bed against his chest. 

“Ah! Daryl!” Paul let out an “omph” when he landed on the hunter's chest. Daryl manhandled him into a cuddle, nuzzling his sweaty face against the scout's neck. 

“Smell's good... s'warm...” Daryl slurred his words and smiled against the scout's skin. 

Paul huffed, but couldn't help but smile at the sweet hunter. “Daryl... I need to go get you some medicine.” He started to get up and pull away from Daryl's arms, but the other man tightened his hold on him.

“Nooo... angel, stay wit me... dun wanna be 'lone no more.”

The scout pursed his lips. He let himself relax into Daryl's arms, enjoying the feeling he'd been dreaming about for months. He just wished it was under different circumstances. He waited until Daryl fell back asleep and his grip went lax before trying to get up again. He was successful this time. He covered Daryl's shoulders up with the blanket and hurried back downstairs. He left Daryl's house and walked down the street to Rick's. The leader was outside on the porch drinking some coffee when he walked up. 

“Hey, Paul. Want a cup?” Rick asked, holding his mug up in a salute. 

“No, thanks. Hey, do we have any cold and flu medicine?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Daryl's got a fever. I think he got a cold from all that rain yesterday.”

Rick dropped his coffee mug and it shattered on the porch. “What?!” Flashbacks from the prison and all the sick people crossed his mind's eye. 

Paul's eyes widened, flicking to the brown liquid seeping into the wood and back up to Rick's pale, horrified face. “Rick, it's just a fever. We can get him some medicine and he'll be fine.”

That's right. Paul hadn't been with them at the prison. Jesus had become such a close friend and integral part of their family, it was hard to remember he hadn't been with them through the whole apocalypse. Rick reached a hand up and scrubbed it against his stubbly cheek. 

“Right... of course.” He turned and walked into the house, followed closely by Jesus. “Hey, Michie, we got any cold medicine?”

The swords woman peeked out from the kitchen. “In the bathroom cabinet. Is someone sick?”

Paul smiled at her. “Daryl's just got a fever.” He blinked when her eyes went wide and her face paled. What is it with these people? He understood being scared of a fever if someone was bit or bleeding, but Daryl was fine. He just had a bit of a cold. No cold was going to bring the strong hunter down. “Uh... h-he'll be fine. He just needs a few days off to get rest, fluids and some medicine. I'll take care of him, so...”

Rick came out of the bathroom with a box of Tylonel Cold and Flu. He stared down at it, wishing they'd had it at the prison. “It hasn't expired, yet... which is a miracle really. Most other medicines have.” He handed the box over and Paul took it with a nod. “I'll come with you.”

“No, it's fine. You can-”

“I need ta see him, Jesus.”

Paul stared at the leader. His eyes flicked between the two. “... Alright.” He walked in silence with the leader back down the street to Daryl's house. 

They stepped in and Rick practically rushed up the stairs two at a time to reach the hunter. Paul shook his head and walked into the kitchen. He took off his beanie and trench coat. His hair went up in a bun and soon he was heating up some soup for Daryl to eat with the medicine. In no time at all, he was balancing a bowl, a bottle of water and some bread up the stairs. Rick was sitting in a chair at the hunter's bed side, hands folded as if he was praying, eyes staring intently at Daryl's still form.

“... If you stare hard enough, maybe he'll do tricks.” Rick glared at the scout and Paul rolled his eyes. “Relax, Rick.” He set the water and bowl down on the bedside table. “Daryl's not going to let a little fever kill him.” He opened the bottle of water so it would be ready to drink. “Daryl...” Paul reached down, gently nudging Daryl's shoulder. 

The hunter groaned and rolled onto his back. He looked up at Paul blearily. “... Angel... ya left me 'lone...”

Rick raised an eyebrow, but Paul ignored him. 

“I'm sorry, Daryl. I had to go get you medicine. Can you sit up for me?” He pushed the blanket down some, blushing as the hunter's chest and stomach were exposed. 

Daryl sat up, squinting around his room. “Why's s'it so hot in 'ere..?”

“Cause you've got a fever.” Paul sat on the edge of the bed, reaching to adjust the pillows so Daryl could lean back against them. “Lean back.” The hunter did as he instructed and looked down at the pill Jesus suddenly held out to him. “Take these with some water.”

Daryl looked up at him. “I get a kiss if I do..?”

Paul's cheeks heated as Rick let out a snort. He glared at the leader. “Yes, Daryl.. I'll kiss you on the cheek if you take these with some water and eat some soup.”

Daryl's smile was loopy and silly. Paul couldn't help but chuckle as Daryl downed the pills with some water. He reached for the bowl as Daryl set the water aside. 

“Rick... ain't mah boyfriend jus the best?”

Paul's cheeks flushed again. Since when had he and Daryl started going out? He hadn't even known Daryl had feelings for him.

“He's so damn pretty... wit his long hair 'n kissable lips...”

Rick's shoulders were shaking as he tried to keep his laughter in.

“Okay! Daryl, eat your soup.” He tried handing the bowl to Daryl, but the hunter leaned back. 

“Feed me.”

Paul's eyes widened at the demand and Rick's laughter escaped. Daryl's grin was too cute from Paul to reject, so he sighed and picked up the spoon. “... You're lucky I love you.” He murmured.

Rick stood up and shook his head. “I'll leave you two... love birds... alone.”

“Bye, Rick!” Daryl waved as the leader left the room. He looked back at Paul. “'lone at last...” He winked dramatically.

Paul stared at him, and barked out a laugh. He spoon fed the soup to Daryl. The hunter managed to eat most of it before getting to drowsy to chew. Paul set the bowl aside and stood to grab a wet washcloth from the hunter's bathroom. When he came back in, Daryl was laying back down, but still mostly awake. The scout smiled down at him, He wiped the hunter's face, neck and chest down, wiping off the sweat and cooling the fevered skin. Daryl smiled up at him sweetly. It wasn't a smirk or a loopy grin like earlier. It was a real smile, warm and affectionate, and it melted Paul's heart. 

“I believe I owe you a kiss.” He set the rag aside and sat on the edge of Daryl's bed. “You were a good boy, after all, taking your medicine and eating most of the stew.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Daryl's forehead. “Please get better soon.”

 

Daryl slept through most of the day, waking only for Paul to have him drink some water. When his fever broke, it was in the early evening. He rolled over onto his back and reached up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He sat up and looked around his room. It was dark out. How long had he been asleep? A soft sound next to him drew his attention and he looked down. Paul was sleeping on the bed beside him. He stared down at the scout in confusion. 

Right. He went to bed naked. 

Daryl's cheeks flushed bright red. He lifted the blankets to see if he was still naked. Yup. He smacked them back down on his lap and flicked his eyes to the man next to him. A book was laying on Paul's chest. He must've fallen asleep reading. Carefully, Daryl climbed out of bed. He stumbled when his vision wavered and grabbed the bed side table to catch himself. His pinky hit a box and he looked at it once he could see clearly again. Tylonel Cold and Flu. 

Shit. 

He must've gotten sick. He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face, praying he didn't do anything embarrassing. Growing up, he tended to get fevers that made him delirious. He looked over his shoulder at the man on his bed. Paul must've taken care of him. Daryl swallowed thickly, warmth blossoming in his chest. He blushed and looked away. He reached down for some clothes, not paying attention to what he was grabbing, and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly. 

Paul roused when the bathroom door clicked shut. He yawned and stretched, the book falling to the floor. He sat up and looked around. “Daryl?” He heard the sound of running water from the bathroom and smiled. Daryl must be feeling better. He climbed off the bed and gathered the empty water bottles and the bowl of stew and took them downstairs. 

Daryl rinsed off in the luke warm shower. He dried off and reached for the clothes on the counter, stopping when he saw a slip of paper. 'Merry Christmas' was scrawled on it. He recognized the jacket, jeans and shirt from what Paul had picked out and teased him by saying Daryl would look good in them. He smiled a bit. He pulled them on and stepped out. Paul wasn't in the room so he went downstairs to find the man.

He found Paul in the kitchen, heating up more stew, hair up in a messy bun and a sipping from a glass of water. He cleared his throat and Paul turned to him. 

“Hey, how're you feeling?”

Daryl shrugged, leaning against the doorway. “Bit light headed...”

“Have a seat, it's about time for your next dose anyways.”

Daryl nodded and sat down at the table to watch Paul scoop up some stew into two bowls and bring them over. He went back for a couple glasses of water. Daryl swallowed another pill with some water and they sat in silence while eating. Paul saw the shirt Daryl was wearing and smiled. 

“... Do they fit?”

The hunter nodded. “Yeah. …. Thanks. I like 'em.”

The scout nodded, looking down at his bread. “... I'm glad. It's about Christmas time... you were so busy getting everyone presents... you didn't think to get yourself anything.”

Daryl looked up at him. “... Growin up... mah family never celebrated Christmas... wanna be able ta do that wit everyone now... with you.”

Paul's eyes flicked up to the hunter. “With me? Cause I'm family, you mean?”

“Well... yeah... but...” Daryl trailed off, lowering his gaze to the table. “Cause... yer special.”

The scout blushed. “How do you mean?”

Daryl stood and left the room suddenly. Jesus sighed, thinking he pushed the man too far. He shoved his half finished bowl of stew and bread away and leaned back in his chair, contemplating how to go and apologize. He was about to get up and clear the table when Daryl walked back in, carrying a medium sized, cardboard box. Paul blinked when the box was set on the table in front of him. 

“What's this?”

“... Merry Christmas, Paul.” Daryl rasped, eyes cast down shyly and hands stuffing into his jean pockets.

Paul blushed and looked down at the box. He reached and carefully ripped the tape off and opened the flaps. Inside was a wide array of items. Sitting on top was a new beanie and leather gloves. He marveled at the soft texture of them before setting them aside. Next he pulled out a box of unused pastel paints and brushes. He smiled, remembering how he'd mentioned to Daryl he missed panting. He set those down and reached in to pull out a few small canvases and a sketch book. The last item he pulled out was a book on Sherlock Holmes stories. 

Daryl must've been collecting these items for months. Paul doesn't remembering seeing any of these on their runs from yesterday or last week. The fact that Daryl remembered something Paul had told him in passing had the scout nearly in tears. He set the book back in the box and turned to the hunter. Daryl was still blushing a bit, studying the tile floor with an intense look of apprehension.

“Daryl... is there something you want to tell me?”

Daryl bit his bottom lip and shrugged. 

“There's something I want to tell you.” Paul whispered. He stepped closer, reaching up to smooth the cotton over Daryl's chest. “... I love you.”

The hunter swallowed thickly. “Ya do?”

“Yes.” He looked up into Daryl's eyes, smiling at the relief in those blue orbs. 

“Love ya, too.” 

Paul smiled more, wrapping his arms around Daryl's neck. He sighed when those strong arms hugged his waist, pulling him close and tight to the hunter's chest. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

“Merry Christmas, Paul.” Daryl whispered, placing a sweet kiss on Paul's lips. Paul sighed into the kiss, tilting his head just so to deepen it. 

Four years ago, if he told himself he'd be standing in the kitchen of a post apocalyptic world kissing a man who hunts deer and squirrel with a cross bow, he wouldn't have believed himself. However, kissing said hunter on what he assumed to be Christmas Eve with snow on the ground outside, he felt he wouldn't rather be anywhere else. He felt warm, safe and loved; and that's all the Christmas miracle he needs.


End file.
